


Fledglings

by Outsider_Lookin_In



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Sad Ending, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outsider_Lookin_In/pseuds/Outsider_Lookin_In
Summary: Moomintroll is growing up fast. Snufkin ruminates on how their lives have changed since childhood.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snorkfröken | The Snork Maiden
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	Fledglings

**Author's Note:**

> "Do you remember when we were two beautiful birds?  
> We would say when the morning would come  
> You are silver and blue like the moon when it's new  
> I was gold as the summer sun  
> But one day you asked for a different song  
> One that I just couldn't sing  
> I got the melody sharp and the words all wrong  
> Those were the last days of spring"  
> \- Beautiful Birds by Passenger

“Moomin. Oh Moomin.”

Snufkin looked up from his fishing, eyes following his ears to the Snorkmaiden standing at the foot of Moominhouse. High above Moomins’ bedroom window was flung open and Moomin clambered hastily over the sill. Snufkin watched him scramble down his ladder, waiting for a slip that never came. It used to be Moomin would tumble about halfway down, his legs unable to keep up with his enthusiasm, but Snufkin hadn’t seen him slip in over a year now. 

It was such a strange thing to miss. Snufkin watched the surety in Moomins’ paws with a sadness he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the loss of Moomins’ childish enthusiasm. His fearlessness that had him flinging himself down that ladder and into the day with such reckless abandon. There was a measuredness to his steps now. A solidness that pressed on Snufkins’ chest like stone, pushing on his ribs until he was sure he would suffocate from it, until he could feel his heart battering against its cage of bone as though it was trying to escape. Moomin reached the bottom of the ladder and jumped the last step, landing on the grass with a flourish and a bow to Snorkmaiden. One rung of childhood left. Snufkin sucked in air like he was drowning. He knew what was coming next and turned hastily back to his fishing, unwilling to watch. Moomin was leaving his childhood behind in more ways than one this Summer.

The sound of giggling reached him and his ears twitched, his face burning under his hat. He tugged the brim down further and stared at the water wondering if he should just jump in. He might boil the whole river away with the heat in his face. Probably best not to then. He still needed fish after all.

The giggling stopped and Snufkin stole a glance up at the house. Moomin and Snorkmaiden were making their way down to the bridge, hand in hand and gazing into each others eyes. The stone was gone, replaced by an ache in Snufkins’ stomach like he hadn’t eaten in days, a hollowness that made him bow, hunching over to try and hide the emptiness from the world. 

“Oh, hello Snufkin. Have you caught anything today?”

Snufkin shot upright, turning and tilting his head. Moomin looked politely curious while Snorkmaiden gave him a sweet smile, waiting for an answer. Snufkin fixed his eyes on the tree over her shoulder, unable to meet her gentle eyes.

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid. But it’s only noon. There’s plenty of time.”

“Well, we’re going for a walk in the meadow, but Mama has said she’ll make us a fine lunch when we get back. If you haven’t caught anything by then I’m sure she would be happy to have you as well.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother. I’m sure I’ll catch something soon.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother, would it Moomin? I’m sure Mama will have more than enough.”

Moomin, who had been gazing contentedly at their joined hands, started. “What? Oh no, not all. I’m sure there will be enough. Mama always makes too much food anyway.” Snorkmaiden nodded happily, turning back to Snufkin with a winning smile.

“There, see. No bother at all. Now, we must be off. Good luck, Snufkin. Come along Moomin.”

“Coming dearest.”

Moomin turned, not even waiting for Snufkin to say goodbye before he trotted away with Snorkmaiden. Snufkin watched them go.

They cut a fine pair in the sunlight. Moomin had grown taller this Summer and filled out. His snout was almost in proportion these days. He was still big and round and soft, but there was a strength under that soft white fur. Snufkin saw it in the way Moomin moved. Less bouncy, more implacable. He had watched in awe at the beach as Moomin cut through the water like a hot knife through butter, putting Snufkins’ gentle paddling to shame.

Snorkmaiden had changed too. The awkwardness of childhood had fallen away to reveal the beautiful woman underneath. And there was no denying it, Snorkmaiden was indeed very beautiful. Perhaps it had been the loudness of her, her vanity and silliness and jealousy that had hidden it all along. 

These days Snorkmaiden was softer. She wasn’t quiet, but she tempered her shrillness. She was less quick to anger. Before she had often been hostile towards Snufkin, resenting him for taking so much of Moomins’ time and attention away from her, but these days she spoke to him with such kindness and concern, often more so even than Moomin, who seemed to have less time for adventures and escapades than he used to.

Snufkin watched as he leaned over to nuzzle her cheek and she flushed a very pretty pink, her fur rippling with the change like the wind through a meadow of rosemallow. She laughed, high and musical, and Snufkin looked away. 

He watched the river. A stick drifted by, catching briefly on a rock before the tug of the water pulled it free and it carried on downstream. Overhead the birds sang, teaching their fledglings the songs of the Summer, and Snufkin listened to them. 

They sang of family and children, of home and safety but also adventure and the great, blue sky. The chicks listened, occasionally warbling along in their own little voices. Out of tune but learning. Soon they would be ready to fly. Ready to soar through the skies, enjoying all that Moominvalley had to offer, diving and swooping and tumbling for the sheer thrill of it, before coming home to rest under their mothers wing. And then one day they would find a mate of their own. Build their own nests and have their own chicks and teach them the songs of the Summer as they had been taught. The time for adventures would be over and the time for home would begin.

Moominpapa had been an adventurer once, too. He had travelled the world. Sailed the seas. And then one day a storm had brought him Moominmama and together they had built a sturdy nest for their family, leaving the sea and the world behind them. Now the only adventures Moominpapa had were the ones he invented in his study. He supposed there were songs of a sort too. 

Snufkin sighed, laying down his rod and looking at Moominhouse. 

Snufkins’ parents had never taught him songs. They hadn’t taught him anything. He had learned all his songs from the birds in the air, lying in the grass and watching them play high above. He had never learned the songs of home. The songs of family and children and building a sturdy nest. Looking at Moominhouse, with its great blue walls and tidy little garden he knew in his heart that he could never build a nest like that. He didn’t know the tune. 

It was nearly teatime when Moomin and Snorkmaiden finally returned from their walk. They wandered slowly, stopping frequently to share a lingering gaze or kiss. The ring on her finger glittered in the late afternoon sun. Neither noticed the rectangle of flattened grass where a tent ought to be. A lone bittern boomed from the rushes, it’s call echoing longingly to the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta write a little sad.  
> Inspired by the song Beautiful Birds by Passenger


End file.
